Passing Me By

It only takes Brad two days to decide that he can't stay home for two months without losing his fucking mind. It only takes a well-timed email to get him to decide where he’s headed.

---

RAY

I’ll need professional help if it does get any worse than this
I'll be out on a ledge if it does get any worse than this
I'm doing alright for the time,
Fine for the time being

For the Time Being - Edie Brickell

---

“Jesus Christ. Last time I checked, your giant viking ass was full of sand and sunshine a good several thousand miles away.” He eyes Brad blearily, scratching his nose. “What the hell are you doing out here? In butt-fuck nowhere at the asscrack of dawn? It sure as shit isn’t for the grand tour of my apartment.”

“Shut up, Ray,” Brad says, pushing past him into the living room.

“Aww, I missed you too.”

Ray leaves Brad to scope out the AO while he makes all the right noises (“You shoulda seen the chick I was with last week. Solid 7.5, and that’s pretty much as high as they get around here.” “You can introduce me to her at your next family reunion.” “That joke’s weak, homes. The Brits knock all the good ones out with all their hoity-toity seriousness?”) and makes them both some coffee. Brad watches him while he pretends to look around. Despite the torrent of unsolicited information, Ray looks exhausted. There isn’t much difference between the Ray before him now and the Ray that drove them across Iraq high on Ripped Fuel and dip.

Once Brad settles down in a kitchen chair, Ray heaves a sigh and finally stops talking. Hip propped up against his ancient gas stove and coffee mug clutched against his stomach, he watches Brad with raised eyebrows. Brad wants to thumb away the dark smudges under his eyes.

“Spill it. You did not haul yourself across half the fucking country in a gas-guzzling nightmare to camp out at my place. I gotta tell ya, I’m not up to doing all the tour-guide shit right now.” Like Brad couldn’t tell.

“A blind, deaf child would be a better guide than you. And quieter, too.” Ray doesn’t bother to respond, just waits for Brad to continue. “How many days can you take off?”

“How many days will it take for you to get the PTSD out of your system?” Ray chews on the inside of his cheek like he’s actually concerned. It almost makes Brad grin.

“I’ve got two months’ leave, a working FM radio for you to torture me with, and I’m in need of a chauffeur.”

“Right.” Ray takes a sip of coffee like he’ll find the right words in his mug. “Did the Royal Marines finally crack you? I mean I always expected you to go full-on Captain America, but I expected it to be on your hundredth tour when you’re like twenty years older than all the others and yelling about ‘night recons back in your day.’”

Brad rolls his eyes. “Come on. Take a break and drive me. This shithole will be waiting for you when you get back. I’m pretty sure a monkey could work a gym desk, and the patrons of the no doubt very fine establishments you inflict yourself upon, guitar in hand, will not miss you.”

“Whatever, dude, we’re pretty good now that the bass player figured out what the dots on the neck mean.” Brad raises one eyebrow. Ray huffs a laugh. “Fine ok, we suck. But why the fuck would I wanna play Happy Homo Humvee Road Trip with you?”

“Because this place is a shithole and any hotel I provide for you will be nicer than this.”

“You may have a point.” They sip their coffee and Brad decides to play his next card.

“Talk to Walt lately?” Brad asks, trying to look nonchalant. Ray shrugs, slopping some of his coffee onto his white shirt.

“Dude’s having a time of it. Remember him all moon-eyes over his girl’s letters? You should hear what he says about her now. Last I heard, he’d moved out, so I guess that means it’s really it.”

“Well, since we’re in the neighborhood,” Brad starts.

“The neighborhood of the eastern half of the US?”

“Yes, that,” Brad replies, smile in place.

“I’m not getting dragged into your homo roadtrip if it’s all about feelings and shit.”

“Look, your little shitty town is on the way to Virginia. I figured I’d see if you wanted to recall how much fun we had sharing a six by four space for days on end. If you don’t want to go, that’s fine.”

“Walt’s only like 16 hours away.” Brad’s grin turns sharp.

“Is that your best estimation?”

“Maybe,” Ray says, petulant. Petulance is equated to happiness coming from Ray, which is progress.

“Just admit you want to go and we can get a move on.”

Ray sighs. “Of course I want to get the fuck out of here. Who wouldn’t? But I hate the fucking mother-hen routine and you know it.” Brad blinks up at him as innocently as he can manage.

“I just needed to get moving. You know how Jewish mothers get.” He shrugs. Ray doesn’t buy it.

“Yeah, ‘needed to get moving.’ Usually that involves a beach, the surf, and you trying to kill yourself on a bike.”

“The surf was shit,” Brad offers.

“So you’re telling me that if I, say, called up Mike Wynn right now, or Tony, they wouldn’t tell me how you had some kinda get-together the second you stepped off your plane from the Land of Fish and Chips and they didn’t tell you how all your favorite Marines are doing? How Walt’s lost his girl and his happy, apple-pie demeanor, and I’m a bum workin’ dive bars and passing out towels to all of Rudy’s less-gay brothers?”

“I see your imagination is still functioning miles above reality.”

“You’re killing me.” Ray dumps his mug in the sink and sits. “It’s too early for this heavy shit.” He eyes Brad like he’s looking for permission before continuing. “If you are under the impression that I’m...less than fabulous, or that I -” Brad snorts.

“Five thousand emails about your shitty job, your unpaid bills, and your concern about Hasser are hard to miss.”

“I never said things were perfect!” Ray being pissed beats Ray moping.

“Fuck, you’re difficult.” Brad runs his hands through his short hair and rolls his next words around in his mouth. “Look, I have a long leave. I have combat pay. I have a vehicle with extra seats and a tendency to -” he cuts a look at Ray to hush him, “worry about people that I may or may not consider friendlies.”

“I’m touched.”

“In the head,” Brad adds. “So, we’ll kill two birds with one stone. We will get you out of the house and we can go see if Walt wants some company. And we’ll drink a lot of beer, if that’s what it takes.”

“That’s some pretty forward thinking. Therapy via beer. They have a word for that now. It’s called alcoholism.” Ray’s blood-shot eyes speak for themselves. “That doesn’t change the fact that you are trying to, I don’t know...fix us.”

“Let’s call it ‘enjoying your company.’ Can you just this once stop arguing and go along with it all?”

Ray rubs his chin like he’s considering so Brad kicks his shin under the table. “Fine! Fine, yes. We can drive sixteen fucking hours to go help soothe Walter’s broken heart. I hope you realize how gay this all is.”

“Just get in the shower and I’ll try to find something suitable for you to put on,” Brad says, rubbing the bridge of his nose to hide how hard he’s trying not to smile.

“For authenticity’s sake, I need like twenty more days without a shower,” Ray starts. Brad gets up and pushes him towards the bathroom, rolling his eyes.

“You aren’t getting near my vehicle without a shower.”

---

Brad commandeers Ray’s computer to check his email while Ray’s in the shower. The most recent one is from Nate.

In England, Brad had more downtime than he’d ever had in his life. Even with training exercises that took them out and away, they spent more time on base or behind a desk than he’d expected. That meant there was a lot of time for email, which was good and bad; good, because he got to communicate with people other than the Brits he was surrounded by, but bad because he had way too much time to talk to Nate.

It’d started with an email he’d received shortly after he’d gotten to England; Nate had sent him a link to an article about the Royal Marines with some snarky commentary comparing them to the Corps. It’d spiraled into several emails a week, trading stories about school and people they were meeting in their respective new places. Worse than Brad’s growing fondness for his ex-CO was the way Nate’s emails made him miss home. He missed Nate and all the other Bravo Two guys and he missed Pendleton and his bike and his board.

Brad isn’t used to missing anything.

The latest email is Nate asking how he’s enjoying California now that he’s back. Brad thinks of his musty condo, his mother walking on eggshells around him like she always does when he’s fresh from deployment, and how two days of surf and his bike was enough to leave him bored out of his mind. He doesn’t deal with boredom well.

Brad hears Ray opening drawers like he’s packing and thinks about emailing Nate back saying where he’s at. Instead, he logs out and looks up maps of the east coast. He’s never been to Cambridge.

---

By the time Ray has made the necessary phone calls and has his shit packed (“Well you didn’t exactly warn me, did you? If I’d known I was going to be whisked away by a tall, handsome gentleman, I might’ve done some fucking laundry!”), it’s past noon and Brad’s questioning the wisdom of his plan.

“There are rules here,” Brad tells Ray as he watches him stroke the rear-view mirror.

“Mirrors! Oh, how you spoil me. She’s gorgeous, Brad. I don’t even want to think about how much you neglect her for that crotch rocket you’re always going on about. Do you even keep her inside?” Ray runs his fingers over the dash lovingly. “He probably doesn’t even wax you, does he, beautiful?”

Brad takes a deep, even breath. “One, you’re not going to talk shit about my music tastes, my hobbies, or my shoes when you’re in my vehicle.”

“Touchy. If you didn’t want me to make fun of your shoes, why did you wear those fucking hippie, open-toed monstrosities?”

“Good, get it out of your system. Two, no stimulants stronger than limited amounts of caffeine.”

“Yeah, I remember our last.”

“Three, if you mention, hint at, or even think about singing anything even remotely country, I will murder you the second your head touches the ratty hotel pillow. Are we understood?”

Ray blinks at him, hand mid-stroke over the center console. “You know what they say about high blood pressure and men your age, right?”

“You know what happens to mouthy little whiskey tango fucks disobeying direct orders, right?”

“Jesus, fine. I’m beginning to think there’s some kind of childhood trauma behind this whole genre-hating thing you’ve got going on.”

“Stop stroking my vehicle and turn the key.”

“Alright, Iceman, rustle up your maps.”

“Go east, Ray,” Brad says, exasperated. With a squeal of tires, Ray pulls out of the space and laughs when Brad threatens his life.

---

The first several hundred miles are spent in relative peace. Ray sings along with anything he even half knows and Brad tells him to shut up when he starts inventing his own lyrics (“You’re stifling my creativity, Bradley!” “Call me that again, and we’ll find out what else I can stifle.” “That doesn’t even make sense.” “Try me.”) but he’s always smiling out the window when he does.

They stop for greasy burgers just outside of St. Louis, taking a break from rush hour traffic. Ray grabs the check when the waitress sets it in the ring of water from Ray’s Coke. When Brad protests, Ray just flaps his hand and shoots Brad a nasty look.

“Just let me. I can’t help out much as it is, so just shut the fuck up and let me buy your grease stain, ok?” Ray frowns at him, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket as he kicks Brad’s shin under the table.

Brad’s chest hurts and he relents.

When they’re on their way again, Brad consults the map while Ray shouts along with the radio (“I need a hero! I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the niiiight! He’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight!”). He props his feet up on the dash, his seat pushed as far back as it will go.

“So, we’re six hours in, now. ‘Bout two more, we can find some hole to stop at for the night. Do you wanna have the talk while we’re cruisin’ or while we’re in some shitstain motel?”

“I’d rather not at all,” Brad starts, cautious. He has no desire to relive Ray’s driving when he’s agitated, either.

“I know you think we’re crazy, PTSD basketcases. Like I don’t know pity when I see it, get a grip. But you think about how Walt’s gonna take it when we show up with it all over our faces?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Ray eyeballs him over his sunglasses. “I don’t think you’re crazier than I already thought you were,” Brad amends. He lets the silence get a little heavier before he starts again. “And I don’t pity you.”

“It’s alright, homes. I’d pity me too, if I could do it without drowning in it. I’m not doing anything or going anywhere. But at least I can be honest about it all. What do you think you’re going to do for him? Or me, for that matter? When’s the last time you even talked to him?” Brad tries not to look at Ray, but he can see his knuckles whitened against the wheel.

“I don’t fucking pity you,” he spits out. “I’m not trying to do anything for you either, except get you out for a bit. And did it ever occur to you that I wanted to see you redneck morons? I just spent two years across the Atlantic.”

“If you wanted to see us, you would’ve flown your big Jewish Mother ass out here, stayed for a few days, then flown yourself back to your surfboard and your precious bike. Your mouth says one thing but your suspicious actions say another.”

“What do you want, a hand written, notarized confession stating that I wanted to see you?” He’s surprised when the words actually come out of his mouth when he was only trying to think them.

“That’s a start.”

Brad reaches into the back seat to dig a stick of gum out of his bag. “Why do you care what my motives are? Either you’re going to have a nice time away from your glamorous rockstar lifestyle or you wasted a few days in a different way than usual. Shut up and drive.”

“No need to bite my fucking head off,” Ray says, reaching over to flick Brad’s thigh. “All I’m saying is maybe your ward might not take so kindly to your Superman routine.”

“Well, good thing that’s a figment of your demented imagination.”

They’re quiet for awhile, riding the fast lane.

“Walt will appreciate it,” Ray’s quiet voice is barely heard over the radio. Brad suspects that Ray’s not only talking about Walt. “Especially since his only company is his psycho ex-wife and his mother.” They watch the white lines fly by. “I just really hate the pity.”

“If I pitied you, I would’ve sent you a couple hundred bucks and a six pack instead of driving all the way out here, you moron.” Brad tries to shut it down. He’s uncomfortable with all the talk so soon after they started. “The company’s not just for you. So find us a shitty motel and stop accusing me of having feelings.”

Ray grins. “Aye, aye, Sergeant.”

---

They pull into a shitty motel in the outskirts of Indianapolis.

“You should feel right at home,” Brad says, dumping his bag next to a ratty chair in the room. There are two twin beds and an ancient tv perched on a rusty wall mount.

“Jesus, even I’m higher class than this place.”

“It’s $35 a night,” Brad offers, eyeing the cracked plaster above the bed.

“Is that from a by-the-hour rate?”

They eat pizza they picked up on the way and stretch out on their beds. Brad lets Ray flip through all seven of the available channels before he gives in and hits the shower. He nearly loses an eye when he moves too fast near the shower head. The water smells like dirty city streets and the hottest it gets is lukewarm, but Brad’s had worse. When he’s done, he pulls on a pair of sweats and makes the three-step journey back to his bed. Ray’s snoring on top of the covers, his hands behind his head. Brad tosses the top layer of his bedding over Ray before settling in to sleep. He likes sleeping Ray.

---

Brad finds himself suddenly sitting up in his bed, unaware of what woke him, when the clock tells him that it’s 3 am. Like many other instances in Brad’s time with him, Ray is the source of the noise. Ray grumbles before lashing out, fist wrenched in his sheets. Brad moves before he can think, pressing Ray’s arms into the mattress, calling his name. After three of the longest moments of Brad’s stateside life, Ray’s eyes blink open. They stare at each other.

“This is the the gayest, most cliché situation I have ever been in. And there have been some doozies in my short, colorful life.”

Brad climbs off, plops himself on his bed and rests his elbows on his knees. Ray stays where he woke, his eyes on the ceiling.

“Sorry,” Brad offers. He’s not sure what to do, and the word sounds flat.

“Shut up,” Ray says, “it happens. Usually with less dick touching and hand holding, though.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s ok, dude, anything that happens after 2 am doesn’t count.”

They don’t move for several minutes, Brad too awake now to hope for sleep again and Ray too shaken to sleep and trying to hide it.

“This is the worst thing about all of it, you know?” Brad looks up and their eyes meet before Ray looks back at the ceiling. Brad has had his share of nightmares, he does know. But he isn’t equipped to deal with any nightmares other than his own. “I’m this giant fucking cliché. I mean I’m sure at some point I wanted to just be the regular dude doing regular things, but I can’t remember anymore. And now I did the big bad warrior routine, except that sucked fucking ass, and now I’m stuck with fucking nightmares and pointless jobs and I’m just treading fucking water.”

Brad feels like he’s drowning. “It’s not so bad if it’s just a placeholder.” Ray’s barely 25 and Brad’s pretty sure that once he gets his ducks in a row and his head on straight, he’ll be able to do whatever he wants. Not that Brad will ever say any of that.

“Well I can’t see me getting out of the pool anytime soon.” Ray sits up, pulling his socks off. “I fucking hate socks. Before the Corps, I wore leather boots every day. I wore socks at all times and the first thing I did when I got out of the shower was pull on a clean pair. But now, after the Footocalypse in the desert, I fucking hate socks, man.”

“And yet you make fun of my shoes.” Brad grins a little and is glad to see Ray return it.

“I know. Just ‘cause I hate socks doesn’t mean I don’t wear them at all. Can’t let it win.” Ray chews his thumb nail for a moment. “Do you know how bad I wanna love socks? That’s how I knew I was losing my fucking mind. ‘Cause I realized I spent at least an hour a day thinking about how much I wanted to love wearing socks again.”

“I can’t eat peanut butter anymore.” Brad shrugs.

“Yeah.”

Brad lays back down and forces away thoughts he doesn’t want to have, considering their options. If they hit the road now, they’ll end up at Walt’s around noon. That meant that they could get to Nate’s by 8 or 9 pm without too many stops. Those aren’t thoughts he particularly needs, either, but Ray sighs and interrupts, turning on his side to look at Brad.

“We should get a few more hours’ sleep, if we can. You wanna be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for when you tell Walt that you’re all set to start his therapy sessions.”

“Fuck you.”

“Seriously, sleep is good. We can afford to be lazy fucks here. This is America. We Marines fight so everybody here can be a Certified Lazy Fuck.” Ray grins but his eyes are serious. He always did have a knack for following Brad’s train of thought.

“We can sleep for awhile then get breakfast before we head out,” Brad offers. He can relax. He can.

“Sounds like a plan. Speaking of plans, were you gonna warn Walt? I only bring it up because we have to find out where he lives. Even your recon skills can’t beat a phone call, and I’m all about the comforts and ease of home.”

“Point. You can call him in the morning.” Brad pulls the covers to his chin and tries to settle in. He listens to Ray doing the same.

“Roger that. Sleep tight.”

Ten minutes later, Ray is snoring. Brad watches the sun come up before he drifts off.

---

“Walter!” Ray shouts into the phone, butt firmly planted on Brad’s Tahoe’s hood. Brad comes around the corner of the gas station and rolls his eyes.

“Must you?” Ray flaps his hand at Brad to shush him.

“Buddy, how’s the bachelor life?” Brad hears the exasperation on the other end of the line from several feet away. Ray just grins and continues. “So what are you doing, say, around seven?” Ray nods and rolls his eyes. “‘Jesus, no. Not sure if you’d heard, but Iceman’s back on the ground and he’s struggling with some real PTSD shit.” Ray whispers the last part like Brad won’t hear him.

“Shut up, Ray.”

“Hey, what did you want me to say? ‘Brad’s worrying his little heart over you, he’s just sick with it, Walter’?” Ray pitches his voice higher and covers the phone with his free hand. Brad glares. Ray goes back to speaking to Walt. “Dude, I’m telling you. He’s a real mess. Would I make that shit up?” He pauses in mock outrage. “I’m appalled that you would even think such a thing!”

“Just give me the phone,” Brad says, arm outstretched. Ray looks petulantly at his hand for a long moment before handing it over.

“Good luck. He’s pissy.”

“Walt, it’s Brad.”

“So you really are with him. I figured it was probably just him hallucinating. Where are you guys?” Walt says, sounding tinny. Brad can barely hear him over the engine of a semi pulling into the lot.

“Yes, I’m really here. Person’s hallucinations are usually more female and less human.” Walt laughs and Brad’s glad for it. “We’re in Indiana, at the moment, and we’re headed east. I’ve got a pretty decent leave, Person needed to be aired out, and I figured you maybe might wanna join us. It might help save my sanity, actually.”

Walt is quiet for so long that Brad wonders if he dropped the call. He pulls the phone away to check when he hears Walt’s voice. “You’re coming here?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Cause you heard about me and Katie?” Brad frowns. Ray looks smug, and Brad punches his thigh.

“Well, I did hear that. But mostly it’d just be nice to see you guys again. It’s been awhile.” Brad waits, feeling more anxious than he wants Ray to see.

“You guys would get in tonight?”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Yeah, alright. It’d be nice to have some company.”

Brad writes down his address as Ray climbs back into the drivers seat. After he hangs up, he stares at the phone.

“See what I mean about that whole pity thing?” Ray’s seriousness makes Brad frown.

“Just shut up and drive.”

---

Halfway there, they eat lunch and refuel. Brad watches Ray flirt outrageously with their definitely-underaged waitress and is hit with a such rush of unwelcome affection that he squeezes out half the contents of his taco.

“You know, I’m going to miss this, actually.”

“This particular health code violation of a restaurant, or your freedom after they lock you up for seducing a minor?”

Ray laughs with his mouth open and full of fries. “No, just you and me on the open road!”

“Oh yes, it’s been such a joy.”

“Shut up, I’m being serious.” Ray tries to look stern but fails miserably with ketchup smeared at the left corner of his mouth. “Once we pick up Walt, things are going to be awkward with somebody in the backseat feeling left out and it’s harder to hear backseaters over the radio! And what if we stop? There aren’t any three-bed hotel rooms.”

Brad smirks. He’s fine with letting Ray pretend that he isn’t completely transparent about his nerves. “I’m sure Walt will have no problem sharing with you, if it comes to that. You’re both...small.”

“Hey, first, fuck you. Second, don’t project your closeted homo vibes, homes. It just makes you look pathetic.”

“Whatever you say, Ray. We can make some more stops. If you wanted some alone time with me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Seriously, fuck you. I’ve always got your six, but I do not have your twelve.” He flings a fry at Brad when Brad points out that having his six would probably be just as gay.

They head out into a sunshiney day, the heat making waves over the blacktop. Brad stretches his arms and legs before climbing back into the truck.

“Do you think we can maybe see a little of the coast after we pick up your boyfriend?” Ray asks as he buckles his seatbelt. Brad just sighs. Maybe he gets the higher ground if he plays along, since Ray’s still playing the denial card about Walt. Ray’s always had excellent observational skills despite his inability to be quiet. “Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t print out a map to Harvard.”

“We may have time for that, yes.”

Ray’s resulting grin is enough to seal the deal. Brad wonders if Nate has time to drive around with them. There’s plenty of room.

---

WALT

Have you ever gone astray?
Rode weary all out of faith?
Have you ever lost your way?
Go where the love is and you won’t be lost again.

Go Where the Love Is - Edie Brickell

---

The thing is, Brad meant to think up some excuse. Anything would be better than Ray’s “Brad’s got fucking PTSD!” or Walt thinking that Brad’s there under feelings of misguided pity.

He’d just thrown his shit into the car and set out before he took a steadying breath. He’d driven to Missouri without any serious stops and he’d somehow managed to keep his mind turned off for the duration. It’s morbidly ironic, he finds himself thinking as he watches the flat lands fly by, that Ray Person is the one who makes him think about why he’s collecting Marines like ducklings.

Brad finally decides that Walt would see through any bullshit excuse Brad comes up with, anyway. He just hates when he looks like a sap.

When they roll up to Walt’s apartment complex, he’s sitting outside in a plastic chair waiting for them.

“He looks like somebody shot his puppy. Oh my god, this is the worst idea ever. How do we deal with a sad Walt?” Brad hasn’t seen Ray look so shaken since Walt got clotheslined in Al Gharraf.

“Seriously? You do remember fucking Iraq, don’t you? You dealt with that just fine, if I recall.” Ray just shoots him a dirty look.

“Yeah, ‘cause Ripped Fuel lowers my filter!”

“What fucking filter?”

They pull into the spot and sit there. Ray busies himself with picking up his empty water bottle and a napkin and ducks down like he’s fishing around for something on the floor. Walt watches them with his eyebrows raised. Brad just shrugs and turns to Ray.

“This was such a bad idea.” Ray sounds like he might cry and Brad doesn’t know how to deal with tears.

“Get out of the fucking car and give him a hug and then make some fucking homophobic comment about it. Most importantly, though, chill the fuck out,” Brad says out of the corner of his mouth. Ray takes a deep breath and sits up. He opens his door and races around the car toward Walt. Before Brad can get his feet on the pavement, Ray is crashing into Walt, arms wrapped around his neck while he accidentally steps on his foot.

“Jesus, Ray, warn a guy!” Walt tries to sound indignant, but his face gives him away. By the time Brad gets over to them, Ray’s midway through his gay joke and Walt is free to bump chests and slap backs awkwardly with Brad.

“Good to see you, Walt,” Brad says with a genuine smile. Walt looks pretty much the same as the last time Brad saw him, but he wears the same dark smudges under his eyes that they all had on tour, that Ray still has despite leaving the Corps. Walt’s hair is a little longer, his face is a little tanner, but his eyes are still as young as Brad remembers and he looks happy to see them.

“You too, Brad. No so much you,” he says with a finger pointed at Ray. His frown lasts a mere few seconds before he cracks. Ray laughs at him before he punches him in the shoulder.

“Come on, dude, show us your digs. I can’t wait ‘til Brad meets Lulu!”

Brad’s forehead wrinkles with his frown. “Who’s Lulu?”

“My cat,” Walt offers, looking between them. Ray just grins.

Brad’s pulling their bags out of the car when he catches Ray alone, Walt gone to unlock his door.

“He has a fucking cat.” Brad hates cats.

“Yeah. I only covered it up ‘cause you would’ve worried more!” Brad rolls his eyes and dumps the bags on Ray’s feet before heading up the stairs.

When they’re inside, Brad tries not to be obvious about looking around for the heartbreak. Ray keeps up his inappropriate dialog (“You should’ve seen this chick I banged last week, dude. She was a solid 8.5.” “That’s not how I remember that story.” “Shut up, Brad, you weren’t there.”) and Brad spots the cat hiding under one of Walt’s kitchen chairs.

“She kept coming to my door,” Walt explains. “I’ve only been here for a coupla weeks, and she showed up every day yowling and crying. I sorta thought maybe her owners used to live here.” He scratches the back of his neck and shrugs. Things may be a little worse than Brad thought if Walt’s adopting strays other than Ray.

Crouching down, Ray holds out his hand for the cat to smell. She considers him then curls herself around his ankles and between his legs. After several plaintive meows and insistent pawing of his legs, Ray lays down on the carpet and pets her while she purrs, completely content.

“He does love animals,” Brad says, gesturing to Ray. Brad hopes the cat has somewhere to go when they head out. There’s no way he can leave Walt behind to wallow with his cat and all of the unpacked boxes of his half of the divorce.

“I am good at getting all the pussy,” Ray replies. Even Brad can’t blame him for taking that kind of opening.

They all settle in on Walt’s over-stuffed couch and order pizza. Walt and Ray argue about what game to watch (“Tennis is totally a legit sport. Have you heard the ladies? They grunt and yell while they smack around balls. Who doesn’t want that?” “I’ll pass.” “Seconded.”) and Brad pretends that he has some semblance of control over Ray and what he says.

---

The first and only disaster starts with an offhand comment that flies out of Ray’s mouth between commercials and chewed pepperoni. Walt gets a look on his face like he might be thinking bad thoughts, like he’s struggling to keep his head above water in BRC, and Brad’s clamped his hand down over his shoulder before Ray stops talking and eating long enough to notice something is wrong. When Ray does notice something’s up, he takes the road of insensitivity and Walt is up and out of the room before Brad can grab a wrist or ankle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks Ray. For once, Ray’s got nothing to say to that. He stands and indecision keeps him there for thirty seconds too long. Brad punches him hard in the back of the leg; it’s the nearest piece of him he can reach from his position on the floor. “Go the fuck after him, you moron.”

Ray turns back to look at Brad, hesitation all over his face, before he makes his way down the hallway towards Walt’s room. Brad listens to Ray knock and murmur something. He speaks a little louder (“Let me in. I’m a fucking idiot, how is that news? Come on, Walt. The insensitive act worked before. Oh my god, just open the door before I say more horrible things, or Brad will probably murder me.”) and eventually the door creaks open. He grabs the remote from where Walt had dropped it and clicks the volume up a few obvious notches until all he can hear is the obnoxious announcers’ voices calling out scores.

Eventually they come back out. Ray looks chastened and Walt looks less like he did after the roadblock. Will wonders never cease? If things shake out, Brad is never not going to tease Walt about his taste.

Brad gives it until morning when Ray will put his foot in his mouth again. But the more he watches them, the more he thinks that the yardstick to measure Walt’s well-being by is connected to how well he reacts to Ray’s bullshit. And maybe Ray knows more about that unit of measure than Brad.

He bites into another slice of pizza and pretends to be interested in the game while they go back to good-natured bickering.

---

“So where the fuck are we headin’? I need some beach time!” Ray pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose as he loads Walt’s bags into the back of the Tahoe.

Brad spent most of the night on Walt’s couch trying to figure out how to phrase “I want to go visit Nate” without sounding pathetic and he glares at Ray for pushing the issue. Walt leans against the driver’s side door and shrugs.

“I was thinking we should head north,” Brad says, shooting Ray a “shut the fuck up” look. “Maybe go up the coast.”

Walt nods, blinks, all innocence. “Hey, if we run up that way, we can stop in and see the LT.”

Brad stands frozen for a moment, then, “I knew this was a bad idea.” He gestures between Walt and Ray. Ray just cackles, slamming the back shut.

“Told you, dude. Walt may be a little cornfed, but he’s not oblivious.”

“Hey!”

“Plus I showed him the maps.”

“Look,” Brad begins. He doesn’t know how to continue.

“Ray, will you go grab my phone charger? I forgot it on my desk.” Walt turns his puppy eyes on Ray, and Ray’s up the stairs before Brad can gather any more thoughts.

“I’d get defensive, but that usually means guilty,” Brad tries again, but Walt waves him off.

“Brad, come on.” Walt gives him the same earnest look he’d given Brad when he wanted him to take a break from playing Atlas for all of them in Iraq. “I know that Ray has been in a bad mood since he moved out of Oceanside, and I know that I’m not exactly in the best shape either, right now. But I’m glad you headed out.”

“Yeah.” It’s all he’s got.

“And it doesn’t hurt to ground yourself.” Walt has a way of looking at people like he’s seen inside, all the way to the soul. Brad can almost see why Ray is tripping over his feet around him. “Two years away is a long fucking time.”

“It is.”

“So Ray and I get to leave all the shit behind for a little bit and you get to spend your leave visiting three out of the ten people you like.” Walt’s grin is huge. “It’s a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me.” Brad just blinks at him, amazed.

For a guy in his twenties who’s going through divorce and who’s seen three tours overseas, Walt is one of the most steadying people Brad’s ever met and he’s only been around the guy for less than a day outside of bases and combat. Walt had immediately agreed to get in the car with them, no definite destination set. Even if he’s got shit to work through, it’s so painfully obvious that he’s grateful for their presence and that eases a lot of the tension that had wound its way into Brad’s chest.

“Dude, your charger is definitely not in this apartment,” Ray shouts down from the bedroom window.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag. Oops.” Ray gives him the finger before stomping his way back outside.

Once all their shit is stowed - and Lulu is left with Walt’s elderly neighbor - they pile in and head out. Walt’s plopped behind Ray (“Walt, you can sit up front if -” “Nah, you take it. You’d be folded up like a pretzel back here. It’s all good.”) and Brad’s feet are up on the dash as he studies the map.

“Where to, oh fearful leader?” Ray drums his fingers on the steering wheel and fiddles with the radio as they putter through town.

“I’ve got an idea, but I don’t want anybody plotting my death for my suggestions.” Brad can tell Walt’s eyeing him as he says it.

“I may regret saying this,” he says as he cuts a look at Ray. “Actually, I will definitely regret saying this, but I think the main purpose of all this is to get out and see something. So if there’s somewhere you want to go, you should probably speak now. I do hold ultimate veto power, though.” He says the last as he turns to grin at Walt.

“I think it would be cool to go to DC. It’s only like an hour away and I’ve never gone.”

“Yes! Yes, we have to go!” Ray slams his hands on the wheel. “We have to stop off so I can buy a camera first though, because can you even imagine Brad in DC? Can you hear the grumbling and the bitching and all the annoyance with all the civilians? Fuck yes, we are going to DC. Just yank the maps out of his hands when he’s busy telling me to shut up if he refuses to navigate.” Ray gets so excited that he takes the on-ramp at twice the speed he should and Brad grips the window sill so that he doesn’t tip over.

“I mean, I know it’s pretty touristy, but I just thought -”

“Of course we can go to DC,” Brad says over him, trying to right himself as he glares at Ray. Ray, oblivious, bounces in his seat.

“I’ve always wanted to try photography, and I could totally make my debut with this shit. Just take a bunch of pictures of Brad in his fucking flip flops and board shorts making that face in front of all the monuments. You know that face, Walt, it’s the same face he made every time they cancelled all the good recon missions.”

“Shut up, Ray,” they say in unison.

“And then, after we get through all that, the next stop is New York!”

Brad laughs with his head thrown back. The way Ray’s grinning means he knows where the line is drawn.

“I’ve never been there either, actually,” Walt offers. Brad catches him looking out the window, looking wistful, and he wonders how firm his lines are. He decides he’ll see how it goes in DC before he gets anywhere near that fucking asshole of a city.

---

An hour later, they’re climbing out of the truck, careful not to bump the doors into the cars on either side (“Fucking parking garages. Whoever thought it was a good idea to pack cars like sardines into a multileveled structure deserves to be shot. I can’t believe we get to pay $8 an hour for this shit.” “Yeah, we know, Brad. You’ve paid for blowjobs for less. Spare us the rant, you fucking tightwad, and hold my door so I can get out.”) when Walt manages to pocket his digital camera without Ray seeing. Brad’s glad that at least it’s Walt’s camera and not Ray’s; he wonders how much it’ll cost him to make sure any pictures taken of him don’t end up in Person’s hands.

Once they step out onto the street, Ray seems pretty confident about where he’s going and drags them to the right. Even with Brad’s longer legs, he has some trouble keeping up. Walt just grins at him when they catch each other’s eyes.

“He probably doesn’t get out much,” Walt offers, slipping between people on the sidewalk trying to catch up. Ray is already a few yards ahead. He turns back, looking impatient with his sunglasses halfway down his nose.

“Come on, you fucking lardasses. We’re almost there!” Ray ignores the frowns of the people around him in favor of continuing ahead. Walt looks apologetic, saying “sorry” to a few people as they jog to catch up. Once they get through the next intersection, they find Ray leaning against a No Parking sign. There’s flat, grassy park on either side of them.

“First stop, the crown jewel of the American government.” He gestures behind him. The National Mall is spread out around them, with the Washington Monument behind Ray and the Capital building to Brad and Walt’s backs. “Ready for the tour?” Brad’s not so sure.

They head towards the monument, trying to avoid ending up in the pictures of all the other tourists while they listen to Ray’s improvised version of history.

“See, this is Washington’s monument, but it’s also very symbolic.” Brad thinks his eyes might get stuck if he keeps rolling them like he’s doing. “All those dudes from way back when were all sitting around scratching their wigs or whatever trying to figure out the best way to honor such a wonderful Founding Father. And since they were trying to be all progressive and shit, they decided to forego the typical man-atop-horse statue. Which, I get it. It’s been done. Not a fresh idea at all.”

“I don’t think they still wore wigs in the 19th century,” Walt offers. Ray waves him off and continues talking over his shoulder at them as they walk. They head around the monument and towards the reflecting pool.

“And they were all for capturing his general essence instead of his likeness. Dude wasn’t so handsome - we’ve all seen the dollar bill. He looks like my grandma.” Walt laughs.

“Don’t encourage him,” Brad says quietly, nudging Walt with his elbow. When they reach the pool, Ray stops, looking up at the monument.

“It’s no secret that these dudes were all super into themselves. That’s one of the universal, eternal requirements for politicians. So it makes sense that they decide that the best way to honor the original American white guy is to erect a giant statue of his dick.”

“Jesus, Ray,” Walt says covering his face.

“You didn’t see where this was going?” Brad asks.

“I was hoping he’d veer off into something more ridiculous, actually.”

“I’m right here, ya know! Shut up, I’m almost done.” He takes a big breath and they walk around the edge of the pool. “They obviously wanted to make sure that the rest of the world knew what we’re all about. Fuck all the moto bullshit they spout at us today. Back then, they played all prim and proper with their women’s ankles covered at all times, but they wanted the world to know not to fuck with our bros! They fucking build a giant white dick in the country’s capital. Because they knew that a hundred plus years later the white dick would still be controlling everything in the government.” Ray finishes with a flourish, both arms held out as he bows. Walt applauds slowly, shaking his head.

They walk a bit more before Walt pulls out his camera (“Dude, you’ve been holding out on me! This has a lot of fucking potential, let’s get moving!” “Thanks, Walt.” “Oh no, he wants to do the ‘holding the monument in his hand’ thing, doesn’t he?”) and they take a few pictures. Ray insists they take one of their reflections in the pool, and eventually convinces Brad to hold still with Walt in front of the monument. Brad even smiles a bit, surprising them all.

The rest of the day is much of the same; Ray makes up more historical origin stories, poses for ridiculous pictures, cons Brad into standing still for more respectable ones, and has Walt laughing more often than not. They don’t stop at Arlington. Brad’s glad for it.

After snagging some hot dogs from a vendor on the street near the parking garage, they head back and pile in. They decide to find a hotel after getting out of the city, and Ray points them east again.

It’s dusk as they drive, the sun sunk low leaving behind an orange and purple sky. Walt’s forehead is propped against the window in the back.

“You know, it’s such bullshit that we do all the fucking work overseas and when we get back, our lives are all fucked and there’s not even a place for us in our own fucking country.” Walt speaks loud enough to be heard over the radio. Ray snaps the dial to the left, shutting it off completely.

“Oh boy, it’s time,” Ray mutters to Brad. Then to Walt, “Don’t worry, Brad’s all over this.” Brad shakes his head once in warning, frowning at Ray.

“It just takes some time to adjust,” Brad says with caution. He didn’t actually expect to be involved in any of Walt’s feelings and shit with Ray around.

“But nobody gives you time,” is Walt’s reply. He looks away from the window at Brad, who’s turned in his seat. “You come back and your relationships are fucked because you were gone and you were killing people and then you have no money for any of it unless you get into the private shit. But it’s still shit, ya know?” Brad nods. He doesn’t know; he’s a Lifer, and he love the Corps more than he’s ever loved anything else. “And if you get out for good, you’ve gotta get moving pretty fast. So what if they’ll pay for school? How can you go back to school after all the shit you’ve seen? And if you’re really fucked, they’ll send you to a shrink and hope that does it. But if you’re not fucked up enough for that, you’re trapped in the middle. What the fuck do you do when you’re just medium fucked?”

“Flip over and roast the other side a little longer,” Ray supplies.

“Yeah, I did that on Iraq tour #2. Didn’t work.”

They ride in silence for several minutes, more silence than has ever been between the three of them.

Walt’s only been home for a few weeks; long enough to sign his divorce papers and move out. His leave is up a week before Brad’s, and Brad’s already wondering if he can’t talk Walt into going back with him when they’re done running around the east coast.

“You just have to make do. I think that’s why they tell us that,” Brad says. It’s weak, but he doesn’t have the answers. He knows about medium fucked.

“I guess,” Walt replies, sighs. Ray jiggles his left leg and chews his bottom lip.

“There’s a motel off this exit,” Ray says, jerking his thumb toward the sign. Brad nods and they turn that way.

“We’ll just take a break here for a little bit and maybe it’ll be less fucked when we’re done,” Brad hears himself say.

“Yeah,” Walt says, the corner of his mouth pulled up. Maybe that’s enough for now.

---

This time, when Brad wakes up in the middle of the night, the source isn’t a nightmare, but instead is snoring that’s loud enough to wake the dead.

They’re in another shitty motel, and Ray had been adamant that Walt get his own bed (“He’s our fucking guest, Brad! He shouldn’t have to share with either of us. And I know that somewhere deep, deep down in your frigid little Grinchy heart, you care about me and my well-being and you would never even think of banishing me to the come-stained, vermin hub of a floor we’ve got here.” “.....Fine. But stay on your own fucking side.”) so Brad is wedged between one of Ray’s knees and the wall and his feet hang off the end. The snoring is coming from Ray.

“Person.” Brad shakes Ray’s nearest shoulder with as much force as he can. “Wake the fuck up.”

“I tried,” comes Walt’s voice from the other side of the shoebox of a room. “He just rolled over and kept snoring, so I gave up.”

“Ray!” Brad yells, bringing his foot up so he can shove Ray forward towards the edge of the bed. He plants his toes into Ray’s hip and pushes out. Ray’s snoring falters as his body slides across the sheets, then starts up even louder. Brad is sleepy enough that he doesn’t even bother to try and stop himself. He feels Ray’s body give and the bed creaks as he goes over the edge, landing with a whump between the two beds. The snoring stops.

“What the fuck?” In the light from the parking lot coming in between the blinds, Brad can see Ray’s head pop up, one hand rubbing his neck.

“Must’ve rolled off the side,” Brad says, rolling himself over so that his back is to Ray. He hears Walt snicker and then cover it up with a cough. “Get in and go to sleep. And stay on your fucking side.”

They all sleep soundly and quietly until the alarm goes off.

---

They drive past New York City, much to Brad’s relief.

“We’re flexible, homes. We can be all accommodating and shit too.”

Walt reaches around the seat to slap Ray upside the head.

---

They veer off 95 before they get near New Haven because Walt’s driving and wants to find somewhere to stop at the beach.

“This is a horrible idea,” Brad says as he climbs out of the truck. They’re parked along the road where the beach runs right up to it. The sand is white and the water is calm, but it’s 55 degrees and Brad wishes he had cold weather gear.

“Man up, Colbert! Just slip off your gladiator shoes and stick your toe in. That counts!” Ray says over his shoulder as he struggles with taking his socks off and remaining upright. Walt’s already dug his toes into the sand, watching as he scrunches them and his feet disappear.

“I just got back from England. I don’t need self-inflicted war flashbacks.”

“Drama queen,” Ray says, sticking out his tongue. Once his shoes and socks are off, he dumps them in the sand and takes off toward the water. Walt grins and follows, dropping his shoes too. Brad sighs and slips off his sandals.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ray yelps when his feet hit the water. He’s rolled his pant legs up past his knees and Brad thinks he looks ridiculous. He looks good. Both of them do.

“Who was it who was saying to man up?” Walt asks, standing just close enough to the water to get his toes wet when it rolls up to meet them.

“I manned up, I put my ankles in, and now I’m fucking done!” He beats a hasty retreat, sand coating his feet. “Fuck, I gotta warm up.” He zips his hoodie up to his neck and takes off running along the water’s edge.

Brad moves to stand by Walt, dips one of his big toes into the water, and decides it’s not worth it, no matter how much he misses the ocean. The Atlantic just isn’t the same and he’s already had two years with it.

“I haven’t been to the beach in a long time. Wish it was warmer, though,” Walt says with a big smile. Brad huffs, rubbing his hands together.

“I caught some waves before I headed out,” he offers with a shrug. They watch Ray, who is tiny with distance.

“Thanks for coming,” Walt says, turning into the sun to look at Brad. His eyes are bright and his face is all earnestness and gratitude and Brad wonders if he means to show that much. Brad’s glad for his sunglasses as he shrugs.

“It’s good to see you guys. Good to stretch my legs a little.”

“Thanks for bringing him.” His voice is quieter, but he holds Brad’s gaze before turning back to watch Ray. Ray’s heading back, kicking up sand behind him.

“There were only so many emails I could take from him about you, no offense. Subtlety isn’t Person’s forte as it is.” Walt’s face is in profile, but Brad can see the corner of his eye crinkle and the way his mouth draws up and his cheek rounds out.

“I’m getting out of the Corps,” is what Walt says next. Brad just raises his eyebrows as he waits for him to continue. “I mean, I wasn’t sure, even just last week. ‘Cause what’s the point if there’s not anything waiting for me here? But,” he gestures around, like all the answers are on the beach with them, “I think I’m ok with being done.”

“You did your job.”

“Yeah.” Brad claps him on the shoulder, leaving his hand there for longer than necessary. “It’s going to be harder to figure out things here than it would be shipping out again, but I think that’s maybe the reason to do it, you know?” Brad just nods, but he turns the words over in his head and maybe he doesn’t know, but maybe he’d like to find out a little.

“Holy fuck, ok, wow I’m obviously a fucking pussy civilian,” Ray huffs. He stops before crashing into Walt and bends over with his hands on his knees.

“Too much beer, not enough gym time,” Brad says with a smirk.

“Fuck you,” he says, but the effect is lost between wheezing breaths, “see how soft you get when they put you behind a desk, Grandpa. Everybody gets too old for recon eventually.” Walt tries to hide his laugh but steps back so Brad can punch Ray in the arm. “Yeah, that’s right, kick me while I’m down, old man!”

Ray takes off toward the car when Brad lunges for him. Brad’s long legs give him the advantage he needs, though, and he gets his arms around Ray’s thighs before Ray can make it. Brad sits on his legs and pins him at his shoulders, half of his face ground into the sand.

“Despite what you continue to insist, you are not irreplaceable. Walt is perfectly capable of driving and I’m perfectly capable of hogtying you and dumping you in the backseat. So what was it you were trying to say?” Walt is breathless with laughter behind them and Brad tries not to join him. Ray spits out sand and scowls at Brad the best he can.

“I wanted to say how superior your abilities are to mine. You are in the best physical shape of your life, and you out-match every younger man in your platoon.” Brad does laugh, loud and delighted, as he climbs off Ray and brushes off sand.

“Thank you, that’s right,” he says generously.

Ray heaves himself up, covered in sand and red in the face. Walt helps him with the sand by beating him like a rug while Ray tries to put his shoes on (“Can you not? Haven’t I already taken enough abuse today?” “Not nearly enough.”) and once Ray passes Brad’s standards for getting in the car, they head up the coast to find lunch. Walt hums “King of the Road” and Brad lets him. It’s mostly because Walt finally seems at peace, but Ray’s indignant expression from the back seat is a perk.

---

Brad springs for a nicer hotel east of New Haven (“Sure you don’t wanna just head all the way to Nate’s?” “Oh, no. Bradley’s gotta shower and primp. Can’t show up looking all hot mess for his -” “If you finish that sentence, I will end you.”) and there’s a pull out bed, so they all get their own space. While Walt’s in the shower, Ray settles in and heaves a big sigh before fixing his eyes on Brad. Brad tries to ignore him, but ends up folding the newspaper he’d picked up in the lobby and motions for Ray to spit it out.

“So, about that boyfriend of yours,” he begins.

“You are on thin fucking ice.”

“Brad. Come on. Are you even going to call him? Email? Send smoke signals or a carrier pigeon?” Ray’s Serious Face is definitely not what Brad wants.

“I don’t have his number anymore.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Ray reaches over the edge of the pull-out to dig in his bag. He punches a few buttons into his phone and tosses it at Brad. It’s ringing. Brad tries to toss it back, but he hears a familiar voice and suddenly can’t let go. He gives Ray his best death glare before putting the phone to his ear. It takes another questioning hello before Brad can speak.

“Hey. Is this Nate?” Ray bites his fist as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“You called me, didn’t you? This doesn’t sound like Ray.”

“It’s not.”

“Jesus, you’re pathetic,” Ray says, having heard Nate’s end of the exchange. He’s up and grabbing the phone out of Brad’s hand before Brad can stop him.

“This is Ray. That was Brad Colbert, king of Questionable Social Skills.” Brad swipes the phone out of Ray’s hand and gives him a kick in the knee for his trouble. “Abusive! It’s true, don’t even deny it.”

“Sorry,” Brad says into the phone.

“Brad?”

“Yeah.”

Brad hasn’t heard Nate’s voice in two years. The last time he saw him was at a cookout at Mike’s before he left.

“So I guess you’re back. And still making questionable decisions when it comes to the company you keep.” Brad can hear the smile and wishes more than ever that Ray was anywhere but in the same room as this feeling Brad’s having.

“Person’s a case of crabs you just can’t shake.” Nate laughs.

“That’s apt.” Nate pauses, like he’s waiting for Brad to bridge the gap. “What are you guys up to?”

“Actually, that’s why I called,” Brad says (“That’s why I called, you big fuckin’ coward!”) over Ray. “We picked up Hasser, too. And we were wondering if you aren’t too busy, if maybe you’d want to grab a beer tomorrow. Or something.” (“Smooth.”)

“You’re on the east coast?”

“Yeah. Outside New Haven, now.”

“Of course I’d like to see you! How long are you in the area? I finished all my finals last week, so perfect timing.” Brad’s face betrays him by grinning and Ray waggles his eyebrows.

“We don’t have a timeline. We’ve just been driving.”

“Flexibility is good,” Nate says like he’s smiling. “We can figure out what you want to do when you get here.”

Brad writes down Nate’s address and before they say goodbye, they sit in silence for a long moment while Ray watches, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“Well, we’ll see you tomorrow, then. Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Brad,” Nate says with a laugh. Brad disconnects and scowls at Ray.

“Just shut up,” he says, flinging the phone at Ray. Ray looks at him and bursts out laughing. Walt chooses that moment to walk into the room with a towel slung around his waist.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, rubbing his head with another towel. Ray’s laughter dies out and Brad throws his extra pillow at him with a smirk.

“Absolutely nothing,” Brad tells him with a shrug.

---

NATE

You act like you don't know me
My god, you tempt my anxious mind
Would it be much better if I knew nothing about you?

1957 - Milo Greene

---

The closer they get to Nate’s, the more Brad feels like taking a rolling dive out of the vehicle.

Two years is a long time. He hadn’t even talked to Walt before they showed up at his door, but he and Walt had always only ever been respect and easy company. Ray Person was a constant that Brad had grown used to long before England, so there was no awkwardness in reunions; they just picked up where ever their last email left off.

Nate Fick is unknown territory and Brad hasn’t been briefed.

“You have got to chill out,” Ray says after Brad snaps the volume dial to the left, silencing the radio.

“I’m not tense,” Brad says through his teeth. Walt snorts.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” Walt offers. Brad turns his glare on the back seat and Walt holds his hands up in surrender. “I just mean that I was nervous before you guys showed up. I hadn’t seen either of you since I left Cali and I was afraid it was gonna be awkward.”

“You obviously forgot who you’re dealing with,” Ray says, “since I am the least awkward person you know.”

“Yeah, ok,” Walt laughs.

“I’m not nervous.” And that’s the subject closed.

Brad can tell Walt and Ray exchange glances in the rearview mirror for the rest of the drive, but his stomach is giving him fits and he can’t be bothered to snap at them.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Nate. He just doesn’t know how to move on from the CO and grunt routine. Emails are carefully worded and not the same as being in the same room, and Brad’s not sure it will work, Civilian Nate or not.

The worst part of all of it is that Brad’s spent more time thinking about how to be friends with Nate Fick than he has anything else in the quiet moments since he got back and that’s proof enough that what he actually wants is very different from friends. He shoves aside the warning signs and takes a deep breath.

They park on Nate’s street just before his building. Nobody moves after Ray cuts the engine. Brad’s annoyed that they’re giving him a minute, but he needs it so he keeps his mouth closed.

“If you want, you can go up and knock while we grab our bags,” Walt suggests.

“We aren’t crashing here,” Brad says shortly.

They fall back into the tense silence.

“Ok,” Brad starts with a breath, “we’re going to go up and do whatever Nate wants.”

“Ok,” Ray says, like it’s a question.

“And neither of you is going to say anything stupid,” he says pointedly. Ray mimes locking his mouth and tossing the key.

Brad takes another few seconds to steel himself before he flings the door open and heads towards Nate’s building, (“Jesus, dude, get up there with him! I’m fucking stuck in this motherfucking seatbelt and somebody’s gotta witness this shit!” “Shut up, he’ll hear you and then we’ll both be dead!”) not bothering to check if the others follow.

They catch up when Brad’s pushing the buzzer for Nate’s apartment. The door clicks and they head inside and up the stairs. Ray and Walt hang back and let Brad knock. Brad’s knuckles barely touch the door before it’s being wrenched open. Nate’s standing there, grinning and looking happier than Brad ever remembers seeing him. He pulls Brad into a brief, violent hug before he turns to Ray and Walt and does the same to them.

“It’s really good to see you guys. Where are your bags?”

Ray and Walt blink at Brad.

“Ray, go get the bags,” Brad barks.

(“Good officers are the real danger, Walt. The bad ones might get us killed but the good ones earn our respect and then fuck us all ‘cause we all fall in love with them and do stupid things for them.” “Hopefully not all of us.”)

---

Nate is very insistent that they crash at his place and he pulls out a dusty air mattress for Ray. They order Thai food, drink a significant portion of the beer Nate stocked up on, and talk over Ray’s running commentary of what’s on tv. Walt passes out on the couch halfway through a movie, one arm dangling over the edge, and Ray is only half conscious when Nate motions for Brad to follow him. They stand out on the balcony off his bedroom and drink beer as the sun sets and it’s the first time Brad feels completely unwound since he touched down on American soil.

Before they know it, it’s well past midnight and Brad tries several times to let Nate go to bed but he gets waved off for his trouble.

“I haven’t seen you in two years, Brad. As long as we aren’t invading any countries tomorrow, I can afford to stay up past my bedtime.” Brad doesn’t remember his smile being so blinding.

As they talk, Brad can see what a difference being out of the Corps has made for Nate. He looks younger, softer around the edges, but still strong. Brad thinks for all that their command tried to crush him, school has inflated him. He’s larger and warmer and no amount of emails could have shown Brad all of that.

Nate tells him how he feels like he might be on the way to doing good in a way he wishes he could have in the Corps. He says he’s nearly finished a book, says he never mentioned it because he wasn’t sure he would ever really do anything with it, but he’s feeling better now that everything’s processed into words on a page. Brad has a feeling Nate will set a bar. He’ll probably be running the world by forty.

Brad doesn’t say much more than what he’s asked for, just soaks up all the details Nate hadn’t or couldn’t put in an email, and he has to stop himself from reaching out.

He knows he’s fucked.

He hasn’t looked at anyone in years and felt like he needs to do better. Coasting on Good Enough feels like failure next to Nate and Brad’s used to being the best.

Definitely fucked.

When Nate finally yawns one too many times, Brad retreats with his shoulder burning where Nate’s fingers had squeezed before he stepped out of the room. He makes his way to the kitchen for a glass of water and it takes him a minute to realize what’s wrong.

Nobody’s snoring.

After blinking several times in the dark, Brad sees it.

“My eyes,” he groans. He covers his face with a hand and turns his back to the couch to make his way to the hallway.

“Shoulda knocked,” Ray offers from his position on top of Walt.

“Sorry, Brad.”

“We’ll never speak of this again,” he says over his shoulder. He’s glad it’s dark and nobody can see his smile.

Brad watches the ceiling of the guest room for a long time before he drifts off. Any thoughts he might have had about visiting Nate hadn’t included Ray and Walt necking like teenagers on Nate’s couch.

He decides he doesn’t care for Ray being one up on him so soon after they got going.

---

“Get up!” Nate says in the most cheerful way anybody has ever spoken to Brad at 6 am. Nate’s leaning over him grinning like a lunatic. “We’re all going for a run.”

Once Brad’s out of bed and has pulled his sweats on, he follows the smell of coffee out into the apartment. Walt’s sitting up on the couch rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms and Ray is still on the floor with an arm thrown over his eyes against the overhead light Nate’s flipped on.

“Shoulda known you’d run this place like boot camp. Fuckin’ officers.”

“You’re lucky. I let you sleep in an extra hour!” Nate is a sickeningly cheery, even for a morning person. Brad grins into the coffee mug he stole; he suspects it was Nate’s before he appropriated it.

“Do you have a pair of shorts I can borrow?” Walt asks as he gets up to stretch his arms over his head. Brad catches Ray watching and has to turn away to hide his laughter.

“Yep, just a sec.” He moves past Brad, snagging his coffee as he goes by. When he gets back, he tosses the shorts to Walt. “Mugs are in the second cupboard. I usually do a five mile lap but there’s a shortcut that makes it four if you guys aren’t up for it.” He turns to Brad, eyebrows raised as he sips his coffee. Brad tries to look offended.

“Five miles, fuck that. You do realize some of us aren’t lifers? I know you’re out, dude, and it’s cool if you want to keep up the lifestyle, but my job is to sit on my butt and I drink a lot of beer. I am totally man enough to admit that I cannot run fucking five miles even if I wanted to at 6 am in the freezing cold.”

“Don’t be a pussy, Ray,” Walt says as he grabs his shoes. Ray blinks up at him for a long moment.

“You’re all assholes.” But he doesn’t complain again.

They all stretch outside for a few minutes, Ray looking around blearily despite the coffee he inhaled inside. Brad watches him in amusement; every time Walt catches Ray’s eyes, Ray puts more effort into his stretches.

They set off and Brad can tell Nate’s going easy on them. He wonders if he can beat Nate out tomorrow before he has a chance to wake the other two. He’s still good for twelve miles with gear, but Nate has always been fast. Brad’s up for the challenge.

Nate leads them to a park that runs along the river and they follow it for awhile. It feels disgustingly civilian with all of them out of their stenciled t-shirts and regulation length shorts. Running in go fasters rather than boots feels like skipping to Brad. The only other people out are runners in expensive looking spandex and neon running shoes, which seems so alien to Brad that he’s glad for his sweats and plain tee.

“Halfway,” Nate calls over his shoulder, grinning at them after they get over a hill that overlooks the river. Ray’s obviously in pain. Walt looks like he’s doing ok; he’s fresh from tour so he’s still in good shape. Brad could go for hours.

“Half fucking way. Is it too late to take the shortcut?” Ray huffs.

“Yep,” Nate says, grin turning sharp.

“I know where you sleep, Fick,” Ray manages. He shuts up and saves his breath after that.

Nate slows to a walk once they get back to his street and they walk the rest of the way to cool down. Ray is red in the face and swipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He scowls when Brad throws his arm over his shoulder and squeezes for a sec before letting go. Ray half-heartedly swings at him but just barely catches Brad’s side before he gives up.

“This is insanity,” Ray says once Walt and Nate are a few yards ahead.

“Running five miles before breakfast?” Brad guesses that isn’t what he’s getting at.

“This,” he says gesturing to the men ahead of them. They’re already across the next intersection, both laughing at something Walt said. “No bullshit, dude, we both know what’s up. I’ve got a fucking homo crush on Walter and you’re ready to set yourself on fire for Fick. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Brad just looks at him for a long moment before looking ahead again. He hadn’t expected Ray to bring it up so soon, but Ray’s always doing what he doesn’t expect. He waits for him to continue.

“I guess my point is what are you fucking doing about it? We can’t play house forever.”

“No idea,” Brad offers as they approach Nate’s building.

“Well if you figure it out, let me know. This homo bullshit is pretty much the worst.”

Despite his better judgement, Brad asks, “What do you mean?”

“I’m ass over tits in love with him!” Ray says, indignant. “That makes me the fucking girl!”

Brad just shakes his head. “Shut up, Ray.”

---

Nate runs them into the ground for the next three mornings. Five miles turns into seven and Brad wonders if Nate hasn’t taken control over making everybody feel better. Or in Person’s case, worse.

They’d let Nate drag them around on tours of Harvard and they’d taken a drunken tour of some of the bars (“I have never drank so much in my life.” “My liver is pickled. It’s going to make its last stand soon, but only after I puke up the entire contents of my stomach. “Can you both stop bitching so loudly? And don’t fucking talk about puking.” “What kind of Recon Marines are you guys? A few shots and you all turn into POGs.” “Fuckin’ officers, I’m telling ya.”) and Ray and Walt had taken the Tahoe a few times to see things Brad had absolutely no interest in and to probably do things he was even less interested in.

Brad starts to get itchy with the feeling that they need to get out of Nate’s hair. Brad can admit, if only to himself, that he’s too chickenshit to ask Nate to come with them, and settles on being happy that they can email and even call each other while Brad’s stateside and that means nothing has to change. He can’t think of a good reason why Nate would want to ride around with them, anyway. Nate feels miles above them, always has, and Brad can’t seem to shake that even after two years of banter.

After the fourth morning at Nate’s, Brad’s just finished his shower when he finds Walt and Ray passed out in the living room, completely worn out post-run. Pussies.

He finds Nate on the balcony and thinks it’s a good time to bring up leaving.

“So, I think we should probably head out tomorrow.” Brad doesn’t like the look Nate gives him.

“Sick of me so soon, huh?”

“No,” Brad is quick to say. He shrugs to kill a moment before, “just don’t want to intrude. I still have another month before I have to report in. Thought about packing those guys up and heading north before we head back.”

“Am I invited?” Nate asks.

Brad can picture it - Nate on the coast, laughing at Ray in the easy way he does, talking to Walt about his options post-Corps, poking fun at Brad and his methodical map reading. Suddenly the idea of being on a trip with Walt and Ray and whatever was between them doesn’t sound so great without Nate along for the ride, too.

“If you want.”

“That’s not very convincing.” There’s mischief in Nate’s eyes.

“Nate, would you please consider joining the others and myself as we embark on the next leg of our journey through limp-dick liberal America?”

“I’ll consider it,” he says with a grand nod of his head. Brad rolls his eyes.

His chest feels tight.

---

They leave the next morning after Nate takes them out for one last run around Cambridge. He’s got them up to eight miles and Ray sleeps the first two hours in the car, which has Brad’s thoughts veering towards ways he should - definitely not - show Nate his appreciation. Walt drives them, crooning country music as they head north.

---

BRAD

Just remember the weight of your world's
Only resting on me

Son My Son - Milo Greene

---

“So we have to play some kind of stupid middle school road trip game, right? That’s the rules of the universe. I mean, I’ll let you guys vote on it, but we’re doing it whether a certain viking wants to or not.” Ray cuts a look at Brad, who rolls his eyes.

“No I Spy,” is all Brad has to say. He’s curious where Ray’s going, which is never a good sign.

“Pfffff, that’s weak. I’m talking like sleep-over, tell-us-your-secrets shit. We’re all grown men secure in our masculinity. And I am bored as fuck by this fucking non-existent scenery.”

“This is going to turn into one of us crying in the bathroom,” Walt mutters. Brad is thirty fucking years old and he agrees.

“You could do the ‘I’ve Never’ thing,” is what Nate suggests and judging by the way Ray lights up, Brad thinks they’re all doomed.

“Oh my god, yes. LT, plug your ears a minute.” Ray looks around to see if Nate’s complied and mutters out of the corner of his mouth, “If we gang up on him and he loses then we can cut off some of those miles he’s making us run every goddamn morning.”

“Who says we’re running? This is vacation, isn’t it?” Nate offers, fingers still in his ears.

“Wherever we land, there is bound to be flat surfaces for running which means that you are going to be waking me up before reasonable people are even thinking about being awake.”

“Did he complain this much in BRC?” Nate asks, turning to Walt.

“Never have I ever run miles for fun,” Ray quips, holding up all of his fingers pointedly as he drives. The other three grudgingly put down one finger.

“Fine, fine, if all of you can beat me, then we can take tomorrow morning off,” Nate relents. Ray glares at Brad.

“Don’t fuck this up. It’s your turn, Bradley.”

“I never went to college,” he says with a grin. Nate snorts.

“I never went to OCS,” is Walt’s.

“Never have I ever been anything other than a lowly grunt,” Ray supplies. Brad makes a noise of protest but Ray just shrugs. “Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.”

“I’ve never enjoyed bullshit country music. Bob Dylan counts,” he adds, jerking a thumb towards Nate. Nate tries to argue but Walt grumbles over him at Brad.

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” Walt says, which gets Brad and Ray, but not Nate.

“Hey, the point is to take down Lt. Runny McGee, not your favorite best teammates!”

“Sgt. Colbert started it,” Walt says with a shrug. Nate watches them, amused.

“I’ve never had to take orders from Brad. And technically, it’s Captain Runny McGee.”

“I’m fine with that one,” Brad says with a grin, deliberately leaving his remaining fingers in place.

“Yeah, right. You’ve probably got a clone kept up somewhere to replace you when your current meat bag gives out.”

“Where do you come up with that shit?” Walt asks.

“Showing interest, disgusted or not, only encourages him,” Brad says before Ray can answer.

“I’ve never raked shag carpet.”

“What happened to ‘Take down the LT!’?” Brad asks indignantly.

“I’d rather run a few extra miles than let you win over me!”

“Can we please not make me sound like the drill sergeant? And can we please have the shag carpet story?” comes Nate’s response from the back.

“Callin’ it like I see it, LT. Nothing personal.”

“I’ve never lived in a trailer. And no, we can’t,” Brad cuts in.

“I’ve never owned a surfboard,” Walt retorts, Nate’s turns completely forgotten.

“I’ve never played this game before and I think I’m winning,” Nate says with a laugh. They ignore him.

“I’ve never liked fuckin’ Air Supply!” Ray says with malice. Brad is a little bit actually offended.

“And I’ve never covered Smashing Pumpkins songs in seedy bars at midnight.”

“I’ve never heard of Smashing Pumpkins,” Walt says with a shrug.

“That’s probably for the better,” Nate replies.

“I’ve never driven across the country,” Ray says.

“I’ve never lost my virginity in Australia,” Brad says with a grin.

“I never needed to know that,” Walt says with a wince.

“I never need to know the rest of that story, either,” Nate adds.

“I’ve never worn ugly hippie sandals!”

“What did I say about you and my shoes?”

“Guys, you might as well quit before this gets uglier,” Walt says cautiously. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Nate’s up on both of you by like four.” Nate wiggles his seven fingers triumphantly.

“Fact of the matter is, I’d win anyway because I go first in the order and I’d get you before you could get me and Walt isn’t going to fuck me over with this, are you Walt?” Ray glares into the rearview mirror. “So suck it, Colbert.”

“No thanks.”

“It’s ok to be a sore loser,” Ray says generously.

---

They’re relatively silent for a while until Ray pulls the vehicle over suddenly and violently.

“What the fuck?” Brad catches himself looking for threats out the window. He looks back and sees Walt doing the same.

“I just realized,” Ray says, face blank like he’s trying hard to figure something out. “We’ve been driving for ten days and that means that today is Walt’s birthday.”

All the heads in the vehicle swivel toward Walt, who looks uncomfortable.

“It’s your birthday and you didn’t tell us?” Nate speaks up first, trying to sound kind.

“It’s not a big deal,” is Walt’s answer, but Ray’s making contrary noises.

“We have to celebrate. We have to do something fun! Mostly, we have to find something interesting around here to do. Idiot.” They sit on the shoulder of the deserted road for several seconds before Brad decides to get out and let Ray have his dramatic moment. Nate follows, like Brad hoped.

“I think the best gift we could give him is a separate room for him and Ray tonight,” Nate laughs as they stretch in the sunshine.

“You can laugh about it all you want, but that’s what I was actually going to do.”

Nate blinks at him.

“They’re...together?”

Brad shrugs. “You should probably flip your cushions when you get back, just in case.”

Nate wrinkles his nose. “I’m surprised that...works.”

“It defies all natural laws.”

“I guess that probably works for Ray, doesn’t it?” Nate says, considering.

“Yeah.”

And then things are awkward. Brad’s not sure what to say; he doesn’t like talking about Ray and Walt because it’s not really his business, and he’s not sure what to say to Nate when all he can think about is the buzzing in his ears.

“Just make sure it’s a room far away from ours,” Nate says.

Brad can’t stop looking at the creases at the corner of his eyes when he smiles. He can feel the moment. They’re on the side of the road somewhere north of Portland, Maine and there are trees and no cars and Nate’s got this smile on his face like he’s being patient with Brad and Brad knows his control is gone and he is going to do something stupid like grab Nate by the neck and do things he’s not allowed to do.

A door slams and Ray is running around the back of the vehicle with his Determined/Demented face on. He stops and looks between Brad and Nate for a long, awkward second.

“Sorry, dude,” he says to Brad. Nate’s smile is a little wider and Brad wants the ground to swallow him up. “So I think we should definitely hit up one of these state parks around here. I remember seeing signs a few miles back. Young Walter here hasn’t ever been camping!”

“You do realize that all we do in the Corps is take camping trips in unfortunate places, right?” Brad says. Ray rolls his eyes.

“I’ll pitch in for tents! We’re near the ocean, there’s a buncha wilderness to explore, and we can totally roast marshmallows. Tell me you did all that in the Corps, Iceman.”

“There was an unfortunate lack of marshmallow MREs,” Nate offers with a shrug. Brad sighs.

“Fine. But you better be prepared to freeze your balls off, because I’m not springing for sleep bags and shit.”

“Marines make do!” Ray calls as he runs back around to climb in the truck.

Nate turns to look at him like he’s sizing Brad up, but he lets the moment pass and they turn to get back in. Instead, he says, “A tent is probably cheaper than a hotel room.”

“Yeah. But less likely to block out sound.”

“Well, there’s always separate sites.”

“Point.”

---

Once they’ve rented tents and found their site, Ray takes off with Walt in tow (“Do you think there’s somewhere around here where we can cliff dive?” “Like fuck you’re doing that.” “It’ll be fun!” “And you’ll be dead. What kind of birthday present is that?” “This is lame already.”) to “find his inner Grizzly Adams” (“Do they have raccoons here? If I can find one, I can have a hat like his.” “You aren’t allowed to kill anything. It’s my birthday!” “Seriously. Lame.”).

Nate and Brad try to wrestle the tents into something resembling a structure for sleeping, but only half succeed. They give up after an hour of it and Brad decides he’d rather find some civilization before Ray and Walt get back and tag along.

“They can claim the tent that’s up, start a fire and all that. It’s probably better if we aren’t around when Person’s playing with lighters and things with high flammability.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nate says as he drags firewood over to the pit. “What did you have in mind in the meantime?”

“We should probably get Walt a cake.” Brad says it with a shrug and a straight face, like it’s stupid and it doesn’t matter. Nate’s smile is soft and he nods.

“You know, I can’t believe more people haven’t figured out that you are a gigantic sap.”

“I’m a cold-blooded warrior, sir,” Brad says in his Giving Orders voice. Nate just scoffs and piles into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get in and drive, Colbert.”

They follow the main road out of the park for several miles before they hit something resembling civilization (“We just passed two hotels. Can’t we just leave them out there for the night and enjoy the fruits of civilization?” “Leave our brothers in arms to battle the elements on their own? Cruel and unusual, Sergeant.”) and stop at a supermarket. Nate picks out a neatly decorated cake with “Happy Birthday!” scrawled on the top and Brad picks up camo candles, which makes Nate laugh.

They head through the aisles for plates and forks (“I have a knife. Who do you take me for?” “I’d rather not eat cake sliced with something that has killed or skinned anything.” “I mostly use it to peel the dead skin off my feet while I’m deployed.” “Even better. Buy some fucking plastic knives.”) and Nate picks up a bottle of Jack as his contribution to the celebration. They’re ambling down the snack aisle looking for marshmallows when Brad’s cell goes off.

“I realize that you know and everything, but if this is your idea of a birthday present, I’d rather you didn’t. Don’t leave me here with him all night!” Walt sounds out of breath and more than a little worried. It takes Brad several deep breaths before he can answer without laughing; Nate looks on curiously and leans in close to hear. That effectively drains all the laughter out of Brad.

“We ran to the store,” Brad says, trying to ignore the way Nate’s shoulder is pressed against his. “What did he do that you’re already sick of him?”

“Climbed a tree and nearly killed himself, ran me ragged going through as many trails as he could find, which is funny since he’s the first one to complain about running! He apparently lost all recon skills because we got lost, and then chatted up one of the rangers so he could get us a ride back on one of the carts,” Walt rattles off. Nate shakes with silent laughter. “Now he’s trying to light a fire with a gallon of lighter fluid and all the logs we have. Bring more firewood, by the way.”

“Jesus.”

“Also, one of the tents got a little singed in one of the attempts.”

“Which tent?”

“The one that isn’t up yet.”

“Well you better get it all set up because it’s yours now,” Brad tells him while Nate doubles over, silent with laughter.

“Look, this is all new, ok? And I like him, I always have, even when he was a fucking psycho on tour. But if you leave me here alone with him for much longer, one of us isn’t going to make it out of the woods tonight, alright?”

“Solid copy. We’ll be back after we finish gathering supplies.” Brad moves down the aisle to the next one, Nate following as he wipes his eyes.

“Good. Ok, he’s coming back from the bathroom. Bye.” Walt hangs up and Brad can only shake his head. He looks around and realizes which aisle he wandered down. Nate jerks a thumb towards the condoms and Brad suddenly finds he can’t get enough oxygen.

“I was going to suggest this for Walt’s birthday, too, but I guess that’s probably a moot point if he’s already thinking of homicide.”

Brad swallows, his throat dry. “Well, I’ve found homicide is a natural feeling when you spend extended periods of time with Person. I know how Walt feels without…any of that.”

“Any of what?” Nate asks. He looks like he’s genuinely curious and Brad wishes the words would fly back into his mouth.

“Anything other than occasional interaction that borders on friendship,” Brad says carefully. He doesn’t think he can answer the real question. He can’t make himself say anything more.

“That’s good,” Nate says slowly. “Dating Ray Person probably requires more patience than you’ve ever possessed, anyway.”

“I think I should be offended, but you’re probably right.”

They move away from the awkwardness towards the checkout lines and Brad thinks that if he doesn’t figure it out soon he might actually have to give up his Elite Warrior title for being such a giant pussy.

---

They roll up to a roaring fire and Walt nowhere to be found. Ray’s at the picnic table with his feet propped up on the can of lighter fluid, which is close enough to the fire pit to make Brad nervous. The other tent is set up on the other side of the site, one corner charred and black.

“Where’s the birthday boy?” Brad asks as he climbs out. Ray just shrugs.

“I think he headed down to the beach for a bit. He was worried about his eyebrows.”

“I don’t blame him,” Nate says, eyeing the fire. He hauls the cake over to the picnic table and Ray reaches new levels of unbearable.

“You bought him a motherfucking birthday cake! With camo fucking candles? Dude, I hope you didn’t think you were going to get out of this trip with any of your dignity left because you are basically the biggest softie ever!” Ray sifts through the bags as he talks. Nate left the bottle of Jack on the passenger seat floor. He agreed to play bartender on their way back; nobody wanted to deal with a mixture of Ray, lighter fluid, and too much liquor.

Walt comes back when it’s almost dark. He makes a face behind Ray that makes Brad laugh before plopping down onto the table. Nate retrieves the cake from where they hid it in the trunk and presents it with all of its candles lit (“Pretend there’s 26 of them. Brad’s a cheapskate and he would only buy two packs.” “I was trying to be considerate and make him feel a little younger. Thirty candles would’ve given him a complex.” “Shut up, marrieds, and let me sing!”).

“Thanks, guys. You didn’t have to do all that.” Walt looks at Brad when he says it, so Brad busies himself pulling out his knife just to hear Nate protest. They settle around the fire, Brad and Ray sprawled out on a blanket that Nate had the foresight to bring. It’s nice. It all reminds Brad of tours, but with the benefits of showers and enough food to eat and not having to fire on enemies in the trees.

Once they finish their cake, Nate breaks out the bottle of Jack and they pass it around, cups forgotten.

“This is all pretty ridiculous,” Ray says, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it off the fire. “We’re all playing hooky from our responsibilities, which I am all for, by the way, just to play happy homos in the woods.”

“Ray,” Walt scolds.

“I’m just sayin’, dude. Without guns and idiot officers, it’s all a little gay.”

“You’d know,” Brad tells him with a pointed look.

“Oh please,” Ray starts. Brad takes a breath to cut him down but Nate steps in first.

“It’s ok, Brad. I think we’re all pretty secure in our masculinity, here.” Nate turns his gaze on Ray and smiles a little. “Ray doesn’t have much room to talk. I’m assured of this.”

Ray rolls his eyes and blows a smoke ring.

“So what if Walter and I are taking a dip in the other end of the pool?” Nate just shakes his head. Walt snags the bottle out of Nate’s hand and takes a long swallow.

After the burn subsides, he asks, “Where do you come up with this shit, seriously?”

Ray taps his temple, spilling ash onto his shoulder. “I’m all kinds of untapped potential.”

“Yeah, key word there being ‘untapped,’” Brad says.

“Whatever, homes, just keep to your broody corner with all your superiority and your secret squishy feelings.”

“Ray,” Brad says, real warning in his voice.

“And he called you guys marrieds,” Walt says to Nate, handing the bottle back. Nate nods in agreement, looking amused.

“See, Brad? Nate’s all cool with implied homosexuality.”

“Nate’s pretty self-actualized and doesn’t take offense easily,” Nate supplies with a shrug.

“Jesus, you’re giving me Godfather flashbacks,” Ray says with a shudder. He gestures to Nate. “Listen to Ivy League over here. ‘Self-actualized.’ This all keeps getting gayer. No offense, dude.”

Nate rolls his eyes. “None taken.”

There’s a long silence, until Walt chimes in. “This is some surreal, deja vu shit.”

“Amen, brother,” Ray says, raising the bottle towards Walt.

---

Brad wakes up where he dropped: on the ground, in the open, with the blanket tucked around him and his backpack under his head. He definitely didn’t do that last bit.

He sits up, trying to crack the kinks out of his neck and back, and surveys the damage. His head is only a little fuzzy, but he suspects the others are going to be feeling worse. Walt is on his stomach on top of the picnic table under one of Ray’s sweatshirts. His feet hang off the end. Ray’s feet stick out of one of the tents, although the snoring would’ve given him away if they weren’t. Brad goes to get his go fasters out of the back of the Tahoe; he finds Nate curled there under his hoodie, using his arm as a pillow.

“I guess nobody’s running today after all,” Brad says to Nate’s sleeping form. He digs around in the backseat for his shoes and takes a look around before slipping out of his jeans and into a pair of sweats to run. He closes the doors as quietly as he can.

He stretches, watching the sunrise through the trees. The water is close by and the wind off the ocean is brisk. It’s pretty beautiful, Brad can admit, even for a too-cold state on the wrong ocean.

He gets going a little slower than normal. The sites are all dead so he has the paths to himself. He veers off the main road into the woods and he’s halfway up a decently steep hill when he hears somebody behind him. He turns around sharply and finds himself nose to nose with Nate.

“Jesus, you’re slow,” Nate tells him, tugging his sweatshirt straight. Brad just raises his eyebrows.

“Well, if it’s competition you want,” Brad shrugs.

“Fuck, no. I feel like there’s an elephant on top of my head. I only barely caught up,” Nate admits. Brad smiles.

“I feel like shit too,” he concedes. He turns and nods toward the hill. Nate just sighs. They head up slowly.

The hill drops sharply on the other side and they slip slide their way down to where solid ground turns to sand. After several labored yards, Nate gives in and bends over to peel his shoes off. Brad makes fun of him for it (“So you can only run in ideal conditions and on solid surfaces?” “When there’s a concrete mixture of Jack and cake frosting involved, yes.”) but decides he’ll join him. They take off bare foot and run along the water with enough sense not to dip their feet in.

The sky is cloudless and the sun hovers just off the water, huge and orange. Brad can’t remember ever seeing a sunrise like it and is glad for the company. He almost thinks it’s the perfect morning, but he reminds himself he isn’t a total sap.

They run to where the beach is cut off by jagged rock and turn around to head back. They’re almost back to the trail they take to their site when they spot Walt and Ray standing on top of the hill near the treeline.

He and Nate stop to put their shoes back on. Nate nudges him with his elbow; Ray’s doing his best to get his tongue down Walt’s throat.

“Nobody needs to see that,” Brad calls up to them.

“Nobody told you to watch,” is Ray’s response. Walt has the good grace to look embarrassed when Nate and Brad get to the top of the hill.

They all stand there for a moment, watching the sun move towards them.

“They should figure out how to bottle this shit,” Ray says, sweeping his arm out. “Nothing like cold, picturesque New England sunrises to snap the hangover right out of you.”

They’re heading back down through the trees when Brad hears Walt say, “That and making out.”

“You’re a horribly corrupting influence,” Brad tells Ray as they jog back to the site. Ray gives him a huge grin in reply.

---

They decide to stick around at the campsite after a day full of trails and exploring the surrounding towns (“This is not a town. This is a group of buildings that somebody plopped in the middle of the woods.” “Says the guy who wouldn’t let us get anywhere near New York.” “There are towns, there are cities, and then there’s sheer stupidity and madness.”) and Brad relents and buys them sleeping bags so that they don’t have to sleep on the ground in the cold. They turn in the tents after the first night and end up paying to replace the burnt one, but Brad would rather turn them in and pay than end up having to share one with Nate.

On their third day there, it’s warm enough to tempt them into swimming. They run down the hill at top speed, racing to the water line and dodging other beach-goers. They peel their clothes off near the water’s edge and drop them in piles. Stripped down to their boxers - in Ray’s case, patterned briefs that Brad can never unsee - they run full speed into the waves, shrieking as soon as their asses hit the icy water.

“It’s 75 fucking degrees out! This fucking ocean should be warmer than ball-freezing!” Ray’s teeth chatter as he talks and Brad looks over at Nate, who is smiling with blue lips. Brad dives under to see if there’s any hope of getting used to it, but when he surfaces, Walt is hanging on to Ray and his teeth are chattering too, so Brad herds them back to the beach.

After sprinting back to the site with their pants soaked through, they pile into the Tahoe and crank the heat. Brad has to break his rule about wet butts in his vehicle but Nate offers to shampoo it in exchange for Brad not letting them freeze to death so Brad magnanimously lets it go.

---

“I have one request before you take me back home,” Nate says as soon as their things are packed up.

“No more camping,” Ray pipes up as he fiddles with the radio. “I’m never going to get the sand out of my toenails.”

“That shit’s probably from Iraq,” Walt pipes in as he puts on his seatbelt.

“Do you think we could go to Niagara?” He looks uncertain as he asks but Brad probably couldn’t say no if he tried. “We could do it in two days if you’re in a rush to get back. It’s probably a day of driving from here and then back to my place should be about the same.”

“Shit, good thinkin’, LT. I’ve always wanted to see the falls!” Ray darts a look at Brad. Feeling grateful towards Ray is rare and Brad smiles a little.

“We could take some awesome pictures there,” Walt says as he clicks through the pictures on his camera.

They head west to the tune of Ray’s improvised lyrics and Brad scolding him for it.

---

They decide to spend the day driving and grab a hotel before the falls to avoid tourist trap prices so they can spend two nights there without totally breaking bank. Brad isn’t in a hurry to rush anybody, especially if rushing means dropping Nate off first and soon. Goodbyes are almost worse than all the self-restraint he’s practicing.

Ray drags them to a touristy Italian restaurant (“It’s called Como’s. Come on. All of you can rhyme.” “You seem a little bit obsessed with this topic, Ray.” “If you were gettin’ some, LT, you might see things a little differently too.” “Ray, shut up or you might find out more about Nate’s perspective.”) and they all order spaghetti and meatballs like little kids. The waiter eyeballs Nate more than is entirely necessary and Brad takes notice; so does Ray, which is unfortunate for Ray’s shins.

When they’re fuller than they’ve been in a long time, they drag themselves back to their hotel rooms to crash. Ray pretends that he’s going to take Nate as his roommate but Walt slings an arm around Ray’s neck and drags him down the hall with a wave goodnight. It saves Brad having to say anything on the subject, which in the long run saves Ray’s life.

Once the door’s locked, they crash on their respective beds and Brad feels like his limbs are too big for the rest of him. Nate flips on the tv and directs it to CNN. He tells Brad to hush when the mocking threatens to drown out the newscasters. They watch and comment on the badly reported stories for awhile. Eventually, Brad starts to drift off.

“It’s past midnight,” Nate says, bringing Brad back to consciousness.

“That clock-reading course in OCS really stuck, huh, sir?” Brad asks as he rolls over.

“It’s past midnight, so I can say ridiculously sappy things without you protesting,” Nate says with his no-nonsense voice. Brad looks over his shoulder and waits for it. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Brad rolls his eyes. “You are very welcome.”

“And thank you for arranging it so that Ray and Walt are on the opposite side of the hotel.”

“No need to thank me for something I did for entirely selfish reasons.”

Nate turns off the tv and the lamp and in the dark, Brad tries to ignore the way his face is trying to smile.

---

“Holy fuckin’ shit.”

Ray has to talk a little louder than he normally does to be heard over the roar of the falls, but the look on his face gets his point across. They all stand against the railing with their jaws dropped. Everyone but Brad has donned a blue plastic poncho (“I would rather walk around naked than wear a trash bag all day.” “As much as some people might appreciate that, would you just put it on, please? You’re going to get wet if you don’t.” “And you’ll be a cranky fucking mess the rest of the day and you’ll catch a cold and everything will become unbearable and we’ll have to leave you on the side of the road.” “I have a sweatshirt. Shut up and put on your ponchos.”) and they huddle together for extra warmth. Brad will throw himself over the falls before complaining about dampness or chill, but he’s glad and a little mad about forced close proximity to Nate.

After they get their fill of watching the falls, Walt forces them through the picture circus. They manage to get one of everybody by putting Brad on the end and using his considerable arm length to fit them all in the frame. Ray makes Walt recreate a picture of his grandparents by pulling Walt close and kicking one of this legs up behind him. Walt timidly suggests that Brad and Nate pose for one and Brad acts put-upon, but he relents when Nate says he’ll take off his poncho.

They end up on a boat tour, where they all get soaked (“I see the pieces of plastic didn’t protect you from the elements. That’s a shame.” “Your observational skills are in tip-top shape, Sergeant Smartass.”) and they climb around on the surrounding paths. Ray drags them into a wax museum that is more creepy than informational (“Did you know that the falls are receding faster than any other major waterfalls? It has receded seven miles in the last 12,000 years! And it can recede a foot in only a year. If it makes it all the way back, it could screw up all the levels of the Great Lakes and basically drain them.” “Where did you even read that in here?” “...I didn’t. I knew that before we got here.” “Dude, you need to get out more.”) but it’s warm and dry inside so it’s not a total waste.

After they had expensive touristy burgers for lunch, Brad drops everybody at the hotel to change and shower and ventures out for good pizza for dinner. He comes back with four larges and a couple of two-liters of Coke. Everybody piles into his and Nate’s room to watch The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. After demolishing the pizzas and enduring Ray’s commentary, they all end up passed out - in various states of dress, in Ray’s case. Ray and Walt both snore away on Brad’s bed and Brad moves to crash on the floor when he thinks Nate’s asleep, but a hand snags his wrist as he slides off the bed.

“Don’t be stupid,” Nate mumbles, eyes half closed against the lamp light. Brad can’t make any promises, but he settles back on the bed, careful to keep to his side. Nate rolls back over and is breathing deeply before Brad can shut out the light. It’s a long night, but Brad can’t find it in him to complain much.

---

They eat breakfast at a diner before they wave goodbye to Niagara. Walt takes over driving when they head out (“I can do the next shift, but my foot muscles are screaming at me to take a break and every time I flex my toes, there’s this crunchy feeling accompanied by a crunchy noise.” “Civilian.” “Whatever, Bradley, you’ve driven like 20 minutes total this whole trip.” “Plus the 24 hours to get to your hick-infested town.” “...You make a good case.”).

Ray and Nate have their heads together in the back seat over Walt’s camera. Brad has plans for stealing it while the rest sleep so that he can get rid of anything too incriminating or damaging in the hands of one Ray Person.

“Fuck, this shit is priceless. Look at this,” Ray says, which results in Nate cackling.

“How did you even get that angle. I’ve been all over that place and I can’t even imagine how you got -”

“I had to lay down and then Walt had to lay down behind me with the camera,” Ray laughs. Brad knows exactly what they’re looking at and he wishes he hadn’t witnessed any of it.

“Show him the ones of Brad at the pond,” Walt says, the traitor.

“Pretty sure these pictures mark the end of Mr. Death-Dealing Warrior’s reputation,” Ray says as he leans in closer.

“You’re all going to pay for this. I realize that you think you’ve managed to get photographic evidence to the contrary, but I am a death-dealing warrior and I can take all of you out.”

“Yeah, on a date to the ice cream stand, maybe. Or a nice walk through the park with our grandmas.”

“Is that…?” Nate trails off. Brad turns in his seat to see what damage has been done. Nate’s eyebrows are threatening to disappear into his hair.

“That is indeed one Staff Sergeant Bradley Colbert, crouched down next to the edge of a duck pond, feeding the baby ducklings his $5 bagel. And let me tell you, he bitched about that wasted $5 bagel for the rest of the fucking day. It was almost enough to make these not worth it. But dude,” Ray says, big eyes imploring Brad to understand. Brad flips him off. “It was so worth it.”

“It’s ok, Brad. At least none of us will ever be on tour with you after all this,” Walt laughs.

“Thank heavens for small mercies,” Brad grumbles, sticking his feet up on the dash and reclining his seat so that Nate’s knees bump the back of it for the rest of the ride.

---

Somewhere near the Massachusetts state line, there’s a grumble from the engine and Ray pulls over to check it out. He’s enveloped in a cloud of smoke when he opens the hood.

“Excellent,” Brad says, climbing out to inspect the damage even though Ray’s the only one mechanically inclined enough to really assess the situation. Nate and Walt follow to stretch their legs. They’re surrounded by forest and empty road and the last town they passed was at least five miles back.

After several minutes of muttering and cursing, Ray swipes the back of his hand across his forehead and sighs. “Well, I think I know what the issue is. But I can’t do shit about it until this thing cools down, so it’s going to have to sit for awhile before I can get my hands in there.”

Brad wrinkles his nose and settles back into his seat, digging around in his bag for something to keep him occupied.

It takes ten minutes for Ray to get restless. He consults one of Brad’s maps for a minute before he traces a path to a nearby lake that lies not far through the trees. Walt and Nate trail behind him as they set off, leaving Brad with a book and his ‘80s music.

When Brad’s tired of sitting around, he climbs out and pops the hood, tentatively touching different parts to see if anything is hot. He shifts some things around, including a stubborn hose that’s in his way, and tries to do the job himself, but his hands are too big. Instead, he checks for any other problems and tamps down his impatience. He wants to be moving.

Brad’s fiddling with a cap that won’t go back on when Nate returns, unintentionally sneaking up behind him and effectively scaring the shit out of him. Brad jumps and hits his head on the underside of the hood, dropping the cap into the recesses of the Tahoe’s engine.

“What the fuck?” he snaps. Nate looks so apologetic that Brad almost says he’s sorry.

“Sorry! Fuck, sorry, will it fall through?” Nate stands on his tiptoes to try and see where the cap went. Brad rubs the back of his head and counts to ten so he doesn’t say anything else in Asshole.

“Ray can probably get it, if I can’t.”

“I can climb under there,” Nate starts but Brad just rolls his eyes. He’s confident about Nate’s knowledge in many areas, but vehicle maintenance is not one of them.

“It’s fine,” Brad says. “What did you need, anyway?”

Nate scrunches his nose. “Nothing, really. Ray and Walt took off running once they hit beach and I didn’t want to,” he waves his hand around, “be the third wheel, I guess.”

Brad snorts.

“Well, Ray’s probably the only one who can get his hands in here, and I think once I get this back together, we’ll be all set.”

“Do you want me to go get them?” Nate bites his lip and Brad wants to shake him so he’ll stop.

“Nah. We don’t have anywhere to be, anyway.” Brad wipes his hands on the t-shirt he borrowed from Ray’s bag and tosses it to the ground. Slamming the hood shut, he opens the driver’s door to get a leg up and hoists himself onto the roof. “Nice day, too,” he says, grinning down at Nate. It’s an apology more than anything. Nate smiles and pulls himself up from the passenger’s side. They lie back, legs resting on the windshield as they bask in the sun.

“This has been a good trip,” Nate offers to break the silence. Brad nods. “Good to get out. Good for them too.”

“If you don’t let Person outside every so often, he starts to smell.”

“You know what I mean.” Nate elbows him in the side. “Has it been good for you, too?”

Brad can see out of the corner of his eye that Nate’s turned his head to look at him. His gaze burns the side of Brad’s face. “Tedious, at times,” he says with a grand gesture to the forest around them.

Nate snorts but waits a few minutes before he continues. “Ray’s right, you know.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“You act like you’re allergic to feelings, but you’re just a big girl. That’s a direct quote, by the way.” Nate’s eyes are laughing at him. Brad twists himself so he’s on his side glaring down at Nate.

Brad’s ready to protest, just like Nate wants, but there’s this thing that’s heavy between them and the words fly away in the breeze. He thinks Nate will be fine with what he decides to do instead, as long as he doesn’t realize how sickeningly cliché the whole situation is.

Brad thinks he does it. He’d like to think that he’s the one who did it. In the end, he has to admit he probably didn’t do it. Nate’s always made the tough decisions.

Nate’s lips are warm from the sun and he misses a little when they meet, his lips brushing the corner of Brad’s mouth. If it’s a test, Brad passes when he pulls Nate closer and kisses him like he means it. He slides his hand into Nate’s hair, his thumb brushing the short hair behind his ear. Nate keeps his hand over Brad’s collar bone, grounding them.

Nate pulls away, looking a lot more serious than Brad would like. Brad feels like his face might crack in half if he lets himself smile, so he schools his face into blankness.

“Sorry,” Nate says. He looks worried. Brad suddenly feels worried, too. He shuts it all down, pushes away everything inside so that he can deal with whatever is coming next without making himself look like a fool.

“I just,” and that’s never good, “I know you’ve been avoiding this.”

That wasn’t what Brad was expecting. “I -”

“No, it’s ok,” Nate says, pasting on a weak smile. “I know we can’t.”

Brad blinks at him a few times. He can feel the hope coming and he tries to fortify his defenses. “Why can’t we?” He’s honestly curious.

“Brad, you’re in the Corps. You’ll always be in the Corps. And the Corps isn’t very...accepting. Of this.” He gestures between them.

Of all the things Brad had been expecting, DADT hadn’t been on the list. He laughs, completely uninhibited for the first time in a long time. Nate just frowns at him and waits for him to get it together.

Once Brad composes himself, he pastes on the most serious face he can muster. “Were you planning on publishing an announcement in the Times? The Post? The Herald?”

“Why do you even know what -”

“The Harvard Gazette?”

“Seriously, how do you -”

“Were you?” Brad raises his eyebrows. Nate just looks annoyed.

“No!”

“Well, then I think we’ll be just fine.” Brad pulls him in close, kisses him quick. “We can play it cool, can’t we?” Nate hesitates, and Brad understands what the silence means. None of it is easy. “At least for now. We can reassess and adjust accordingly at a later time?” Brad gives him a small smile and hopes for the best.

“Yeah.”

Brad will never be tired of that smile.

“You’re an idiot, you know,” Nate tells him, exasperated. “I’ve been waiting.”

Brad huffs a laugh. He knows.

---

They lay in the sun for another hour or so, trading a few words but mostly easy silence. When the sun is skimming the trees, Brad sits up and stretches.

“They’ve had enough time for whatever it is they’re doing that I don’t want to know about, right?” Brad asks as he slides to the ground.

“I can go and save you the trauma, if you don’t want to risk it,” Nate says with a laugh. Brad shakes his head.

“Nope. Ray and I have a system.” Nate looks at him from the roof, curious.

“Telepathy? Because that would explain a lot.”

“Better.” Brad takes a deep breath, cups his hands around his mouth, and yells as loud as he can. “RAY! I NEED MY RTO!” Birds from nearby trees scatter and Brad’s voice echoes back a few times. Nate flops onto his back choking on laughter.

“Sophisticated,” he manages. “Is that from BRC?”

“DAMN STRAIGHT YOU DO,” a far off voice returns. Brad has laughed himself hoarse by the time Ray and Walt emerge from between the trees.

---

The rest of the ride back to Cambridge is uneventful once Ray gets the Tahoe running again. Walt and Ray had exhausted themselves (“I don’t want to know. Just don’t track any sand into my vehicle.”) running through forest and sand, so Brad drives the rest of the way with Nate in the passenger seat. With Ray and Walt passed out in the back, Brad finds his eyes wandering to Nate every few miles and Nate catches him every time. Brad doesn’t mind that they both end up smiling like idiots.

They pull into Nate’s after dark and unload their stuff in his front hall. Ray and Walt drop onto the air mattress on Nate’s living room floor while Brad and Nate do laundry and drink beer. By the time Brad’s clothes are clean, Nate is nearly asleep on his feet so Brad leads him to his room, completely fine with taking the opportunity to sling his arm around Nate’s waist.

“Where are you sleeping?” Nate asks him, stopping in the doorway of his room.

“The guest room was good to me before.”

“And my room won’t be?”

All Brad can think about is how fast things go and how what he wants is being offered right now and if he walks through the door with Nate, he doesn’t care if they have sex or if they cuddle like the old married couple Ray keeps telling them they are. He thinks about eleven days’ worth of Nate’s company and how it’s winding down to the inevitable end and he has to make the decision. He can walk away now and save himself the trouble or he can walk into Nate’s bedroom and know he’s going to have to leave no matter how much he doesn’t want to.

“I guess I could see.”

He’s surprised by what an easy decision it is, in the end.

---

“Fuckin’ Brad went running without us!” Ray’s voice carries through the apartment at 6:30 am the next morning.

“Are you really complaining that he didn’t wake you up to run several miles before the sun is up? Who are you and what have you done with Ray Person?”

“Shut up, it’s a brotherhood thing! You don’t go running alone in liberal territory no matter how giant and viking you are!” There’s a knock at Nate’s door, and Nate shifts next to Brad, rolling onto his side. He blinks away his sleepiness and Brad watches his smile grow.

“You and Walt can feel free to run without us,” Brad calls so Ray will hear him through the door.

There’s a pointed silence, before Walt says, “You just cost me $20, Colbert. You’re buying lunch.”

---

...it ends.

It’s 6:30 am when impatient knocking wakes Brad up from a decent dream. Nate blinks at him and sighs.

“Your problem,” he mumbles before he rolls over.

“Open up! What did I tell you about locking the door and hurting my feelings?”

“Ray,” Brad starts, pulling his pillow over his head. The door swings open dramatically, slamming into the dresser behind it, lock easily picked. Brad raises the pillow enough to glare at Ray, who has the good grace to wince.

“Sorry, dude. But you definitely should’ve been up by now! Walt and I have had our shoes on since 6! Up and at ‘em!” Ray walks around the bed and shakes Nate’s shoulder. “Come on, LT! Those miles aren’t going to run themselves!”

“You’ve created a monster,” Brad tells him, untangling himself from the sheets. He’s learned that it’s best to go along with Ray or the annoyance increases exponentially. Nate grumbles and follows.

Walt apologizes to them and hands them each a mug of coffee when they stumble their way into Brad’s living room/makeshift guest room.

Nate’s smile is wry. “I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”

They set out towards the beach in the morning sunlight, Ray and Brad neck and neck. Nate snags Brad’s shirt and pulls him back. Only a few yards from the finish line, Ray cheers as he pulls ahead, fists raised over his head as he sprints under the archway that leads to the beach. Walt shakes his head and pours on the speed to catch up and Brad and Nate slow down until they’re several yards behind. At a jog, they can both speak without struggling to breathe.

“I can’t believe you made me lose,” Brad tells him, all mock outrage. Nate rolls his eyes.

“It’s good for you every once in awhile.”

“I can think of a lot of other things that are good for me that I would rather be doing right now,” Brad offers.

“You say the sweetest things.” Nate’s smile is wide and warm. They keep running.

Notes:

Ridiculous things contributed to the creation of this fluff including too much Milo Greene, my own road trippin’ this summer, Google Maps and its fantastic street view feature, and a need to sit down and see where these dudes would end up taking me. It turns out they took me on a boring road trip to places I haven't even been. Thanks to J and G for reading this over before I unleashed it on the internet. The title is a nod to Sam Roberts' "Brother Down." All of this is fiction based on characters that are fictionalized and I don’t own them or profit from them in any way.

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